


Touch

by agrajag



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 03:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agrajag/pseuds/agrajag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock explains touch to John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

Sherlock, while often invading other people’s personal space uninvited, rather enjoyed his own. He first took notice of this at a young age due to Mummy’s fondness for his hair. She’d lick her index finger and attempt to control any flyaway strands. It was all very pedestrian and Sherlock would flinch away. As he grew older he learned to style his unruly hair which pleased both Mummy and Mycroft. They were tired of the youngest Holmes running around London in rumpled suits and with brambles in his curls.

Lestrade had had a nasty habit of looking over Sherlock’s shoulder as he worked. The first month the Yard, meaning strictly Lestrade of course, let Sherlock in on cases was horrid. He waited to see if Lestrade would notice how he’d tense up when cornered, with the breath hot on his neck. Eventually he grew tired of the detective’s stupidity (and clear lack of detective skills) and moved all of his equipment to his flat. Five years later it appeared Lestrade finally worked it out and gave Sherlock his space when at crime scenes.

From the moment Sherlock met John he knew he was special. Still ordinary, still stupid, still clueless. Special, somehow, none-the-less. He kept his distance and at first Sherlock attributed it to the limp - too much effort to walk closer - but then there was the chase and John’s hand tentatively reaching for the badge in Sherlock’s. He knew. Ordinary? Yes. Stupid? No, yet still no genius. Clueless? About some things. He only seemed to observe when it came to social cues and he observed Sherlock who, to anyone else, was a robot.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Sherlock said. It was a quiet day and they had been relaxing for most of it. Well, as relaxed as Sherlock could get. There was no crime, or rather, nothing interesting. Sherlock was perched on the couch, looking like a gargoyle, with his robe billowing around him. John looked up from his paper when he realized Sherlock was speaking to him and not the skull. “It feels more like paresthesia. That’s what they call the sensation of ‘pins and needles.’”

“I know what it means,” John said with a sigh.

“Oh, good. Well, when someone touches me and I didn’t initiate that contact, that’s what it feels like. Also, I automatically tense up when others get too close, once again, if I wasn’t the one who approached the person. I can ignore my body’s natural responses when working. I understand standing closer can either put you on a personal level that words cannot establish in such a short time or, on the other hand, it can make you appear intimidating. Both are helpful when needing information. I’ve never wanted to touch someone for any other reason, though. Except you John. I want to touch you.”

John laughed, stood up from his chair, and joined Sherlock on the couch. “I hope you realize how that sounds.”

Sherlock stared, realizing he missed something. An innuendo, perhaps. John should know he hadn’t meant intercourse. At least not yet. Sherlock felt like they could eventually work up to that if John was also interested. However, it was all very sudden. He was more interested in actions he had previously viewed as pointless such as holding hands or cuddling on the couch on days quite like the day they were currently having.

Sherlock was pulled from his thoughts when John carefully laid a hand on his thigh.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Sherlock smiled and placed his hand over John’s. “Yes.”

And surprisingly (amazingly, wonderfully, spectacularly) it was.


End file.
